"Smile"
Old Ford jolted away from Godolkin University's south gate into the night.
Streetlight streamed through the windows, shifting patches of light and shadow sweeping across Cate's face and making her blond hair alternately bright and dim.
The view inside the car was different from outside. It was dark within, and she could barely make out the people in front.
The driver was a thin man with a short buzz cut, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, his fingers tapping lightly on the steering wheel to the jazz on the radio.
John, who had come to see her yesterday, sat in the passenger seat, wearing a mask and saying nothing.
Beside her on the left in the back seat was a burly black man with the same buzz cut as the driver, his arms folded.
Farther left was a young man around her age, thin but apparently quite tall.
A battered laptop rested on his knees, and he wore a naturally aggrieved expression.
"So you're the... new teammate from Godolkin?"
The thin young man spoke first, his gaze sweeping over her before quickly darting away.
"Um... I'm Hughie, Hughie Campbell. The guy driving is Frenchie, and this is Mother's Milk. We're sort of working with John."
"You're talking fucking nonsense."
Mother's Milk spoke with his eyes closed.
"Well, I'm just introducing myself, okay? It's basic manners..."
"Uh, hi."
Cate answered quietly. The back seat seemed to be all men... more precisely, she was the only woman.
That made her feel somewhat out of place.
As she thought about this, her gaze moved from Hughie's face to Mother's Milk's, then to John in the front passenger seat.
Just as she was about to say something, she caught something moving on the extra row of seats behind them out of the corner of her eye.
She turned and, by the streetlight flashing past outside the window, made out the outlines of two people on the extra seats.
One was a man in gray casual clothes, with a large patch of blood soaking the fabric over his chest, already oxidized to a dark brown.
Looking up past his neck, she saw that all-too-familiar face force out a smile uglier than a crying grimace upon seeing her.
His right hand rose into the air, traces of blood still clinging to his fingers.
Beside him, however, another person slumped crookedly, someone distinctly more recognizable...
A black uniform, a fully enclosed mask, one hand resting on the edge of the seat, his head tilted against the backrest-he was clearly unconscious.
Cate had seen both of these people countless times in Vought's news headlines.
"Ah!"
Cate let out a startled cry, suddenly finding that her brain seemed unable to keep up.
"So, you... Vought sent them? And you beat them up like this?"
"Uh... first, I'd like to state that I didn't mess with anyone."
Hearing Cate's words, The Deep's mouth twitched, and he raised a hand helplessly.
"So, ma'am, do I look like a bad guy? Hey, I was obviously here to help!
Look at this wound. That dumbass mute beside me stabbed me. They didn't do this."
He pointed his thumb at the unconscious Black Noir beside him.
"He's the bad guy. You should be glad he's still out cold, or he'd strangle you on your first ride in this car. Want to see my wound?"
"Give it a rest. Nobody wants to see your wound."
John spoke from the front without looking back.
"But The Deep really did come to help this time. As for Black Noir, consider him our spoils of war...
Once we get there, we might need your help dealing with some things in his head.
Oh, right, introductions. This is Cate Dunlap, a freshman at Godolkin University. Her abilities are telepathy and control."
But the instant John finished speaking, the air inside the entire car froze.
"Holy shit!"
Hughie reacted first, springing up and scooting backward, his knee hitting his laptop. The screen wobbled twice, and it nearly fell.
"Mind control? You said she has mind control? Can you read minds? Are you reading my thoughts right now? Everything I was thinking just now was normal..."
He grew more agitated as he spoke, until Mother's Milk reached out and pressed a hand onto his shoulder, pushing him back into his seat.
"Calm down, man."
"How about we hear John out first?"
"Don't panic. Her ability has limits. She has to touch you with her hands to trigger it."
John's voice came from the front.
"She's wearing gloves right now. Your piddling little secrets are perfectly safe.
You can start panicking when she takes them off."
Hughie took a few heavy breaths, his gaze falling on Cate's pockets.
She pulled her hands out of her hoodie pockets. An extremely thin lace glove covered her right hand, and she wiggled her fingers in the air.
"Hi~"
At that moment, Frenchie glanced at Cate in the rearview mirror.
The car happened to round a corner, and the streetlight shone in from the side, falling directly on her face.
Bright blue eyes tinged with green, blond hair, delicate features, and a small patch of pale redness that had yet to fully fade from her cheekbones.
Frenchie's fingers paused on the steering wheel for a beat. Then he turned back and muttered something in French.
"What did you say?"
Mother's Milk opened his eyes.
"I said, John, you really did fucking go to pick up chicks."
The car fell silent again for a moment.
At Frenchie's words, an extremely faint pink slowly rose on Cate's face in the darkness, spreading from her cheekbones to the roots of her ears.
She lowered her head, her right hand unconsciously touching the edge of the lace glove on her left hand, as though she wanted to say something.
But in the end, she slipped her hands back into her hoodie pockets.
John turned to glance at Frenchie and gave him the internationally recognized gesture of courtesy.
"Frenchie, just drive the damn car."
Frenchie shrugged and turned the stereo up a notch. Rousing music instantly filled the car.
Before long, the group arrived in Butcher's basement.
It was clearly more cramped than the garage, but better hidden.
The old house stood in the industrial district on the very edge of Brooklyn, blending in with the surrounding abandoned factories. From outside, it looked like an ordinary old house on the verge of demolition.
The basement windows had been bricked up, soundproofing foam covered the walls, and the air carried a mixture of disinfectant and the musty smell of old furniture.
Just earlier, when John had called to ask to use the basement, Butcher had sworn for five full minutes.
He had wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder, holding the small sneakers Ryan had just taken off in one hand.
In the other, he clutched a half-finished bottle of bourbon, his voice so loud that it drew Becca, who was warming milk in the kitchen, to the stairs.
"You fucking... treating my safe house like a hotel chain now?
I found the garage last time, now it's the basement. Next time, are you going to borrow my fucking bed for the night?"
John said something on the other end, and Butcher helplessly slammed the bourbon onto the coffee table, the bottle's base striking the wood with a dull thud.
"No shit, of course I can clear it out.
But you owe me a favor-your greatest daddy, William Butcher. Keep that tucked beneath that face of yours that's just as much of a bastard as Homelander's."
Back to the present.
With a nasty sense of humor, Mother's Milk had tied Black Noir to the load-bearing pillar in the deepest part of the basement.
The pillar was the thickest structural support in the old house, running from the basement all the way to the second-floor ceiling, solid beyond measure.
"Whoever built this house probably never imagined it'd be used for this someday."
Hughie stood before the load-bearing pillar, arms folded, looking at the truly wretched Black Noir as he quipped.
"All you do is run your mouth, kid. Won't even help."
Mother's Milk crouched down and fitted industrial-grade nylon zip ties around Black Noir's wrists and ankles, pulling each one so tight that it dug right into his uniform.
Black Noir's head hung down, his chin resting against his chest. He still hadn't woken up.
"You'd better check him for tracking devices. With this mute son of a bitch in my house, we're in trouble if those Vought asshomes (doge) come knocking."
Butcher stood on the steps by the entrance with his signature weapon, his voice hoarse and eyes narrowed, obvious displeasure showing on his roguish, sleazy face.
"If Edgar finds out he's here, the Vought Security Department will blow this house flat, along with the one next door."
"All right, he won't be here long. We'll leave when we're done."
John leaned against the wall opposite the pillar, both hands in the pockets of his old leather jacket.
"Once Cate digs the stuff out of his head, I'll get him out of here. We already removed his tracking system."
"You little bastard, you'd better."
Butcher stared at John for a long while, snorted, then took out a crumpled half-pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips.
"I'm taking Becca and Ryan upstairs. Lock the basement door...
And don't make too much noise. Don't wreck my fucking load-bearing pillar."
After Butcher went upstairs, Becca set the tray on the folding table, rested a hand lightly on Ryan's shoulder, and turned toward Butcher.
"William, how long will they need?"
"Don't know. Could be a few minutes, could be all night.
You two go to sleep. I'll keep watch. Whatever you hear, don't come down."
As he spoke, Butcher rubbed Ryan's head.
Fuck, that felt good.
Becca nodded and took Ryan's hand, heading upstairs.
"Don't smoke too much."
"Got it."
"I'm going to start."
Cate now walked up to the pillar and looked down at Black Noir.
His mask had only two extremely dark, almost opaque mirrored lenses.
She couldn't see his eyes, but she could clearly sense that he was still unconscious.
Reading memories was much less taxing when the subject was unconscious.
She first took a deep breath and lifted Black Noir's mask halfway.
It revealed a disfigured face covered in folds and overgrown scar tissue. Then she pressed her hand to Black Noir's chin.
So gross... I absolutely have to wash my hands afterward!
Forcing down her disgust, Cate began reading his memories.
As her thoughts invaded, the first image that appeared was a campfire.
The camp in Nicaragua.
Soldier Boy had an arm roughly slung around Black Noir's shoulders and was crazily pouring vodka down his throat.
Back then, Black Noir hadn't worn a mask or been disfigured. His face was young, tears and snot streaming from the burn of the vodka as he mumbled pleas for mercy.
This was Cate's first time hearing Black Noir speak. His voice was very resonant; he had a talent for singing opera.
As Black Noir vomited violently on the ground, Soldier Boy stood beside him, rocking with laughter as he mercilessly cursed him out:
"You fucking puke just from drinking? I'm ashamed of you, you fucking pussy."
Then the scene changed again.
On the battlefield, spent casings and burning scraps of tents littered the ruins as Soldier Boy's teammates joined forces to attack him.
Black Noir crouched behind a tank, trembling all over, not daring to move at all.
Soon, Soldier Boy had beaten all three of them to the ground. Covered in blood, his eyes swollen into slits, he walked toward the tank.
Black Noir rose from behind the tank to explain, but Soldier Boy gave him no chance, smashing his jaw, crushing his throat, then punching through his brain.
The scene ended there.
"Phew-"
Cate's fingertips trembled slightly against Black Noir's chin, and she drew a deep breath.
What John needed wasn't Black Noir's personal history, though it was miserable beyond measure...
What she needed to find was the background and process of Soldier Boy's injection with the first-generation Compound V1, and all information concerning V1.
Following Cate's search, the memories kept turning over, soon jumping to an underground laboratory.
It was very rudimentary, with a German reversed-swastika flag hanging on the wall and glass petri dishes and handwritten notebooks covering the lab bench.
Soldier Boy lay on a metal bed, his wrists secured with leather straps, while a man in a white coat stood beside him adjusting the injection pump's settings.
But that man's face... it was so familiar!
Cate had seen that face countless times on the hallway photo wall at Godolkin University.
Thomas Godolkin, the man whose name the university bore.
He was also one of Vought International's founders.
In the scene, Godolkin's gaze was intensely focused as pale blue liquid traveled down the tube into Soldier Boy's vein.
"Ben, are you ready? Our newly developed V1 carries considerable risks. So far, no one has been able to adapt to it."
"Cut the bullshit, Godolkin. Like a real man, come on!"
The next second, Soldier Boy's body went rigid, his muscles beginning to convulse violently, pulling the leather restraints taut with creaking sounds.
His roars of excruciating pain instantly pierced the entire basement.
Godolkin stood beside him, smiling, a clipboard in hand as his pen raced across the paper.
He looked up at Soldier Boy, the smile on his face growing wider.
This was the only segment in Black Noir's memories... everything else was extremely jumbled. Keep looking for clues about V1.
With that thought, Cate kept digging inward, and the images of the V1 injection gradually faded.
She probed deeper, hoping to find the coordinates of where Soldier Boy had last been imprisoned in Russia, or the whereabouts of the complete V1 formula.
After sorting through it all, Cate was surprised to discover that, whether it was Compound V1 or Soldier Boy's experiences,
or even his teammates backstabbing Soldier Boy and sending him to Russia,
they were all connected to one man.
Thomas Godolkin.
The doctor in the white lab coat who had appeared in the images just now.
Godolkin had taken part in the project and single-handedly produced Compound V1, recruiting living subjects for experiments to that end. Soldier Boy had been his first test case.
And apart from Soldier Boy, Black Noir's memories showed that Soldier Boy's first batch of teammates-Bombsight, Private Angel, and Torpedo-had also been successfully injected.
But those people had later vanished without a trace, too, and Black Noir's memories of them were very faint.
Godolkin had been the driving force behind the eventual backstabbing of Soldier Boy. He had counseled Black Noir, and he had persuaded Black Noir to backstab Soldier Boy.
At the very end, when the grievously wounded, dying Black Noir opened his eyes again, the person he saw was still him.
Then he had used a new version of Compound V to save Black Noir's life.
Having spotted a clue, Cate immediately anchored her memory search to Godolkin and began probing.
But that probing led to trouble. When she tried to extract more information about Godolkin, she ran into a wall.
More precisely, a wall of memories.
Like a barrier, it shut out Cate's probing, preventing her from seeing anything.
For a psychic superhuman like Cate, this was extremely similar to the "treatment" she usually administered to the patients in the Mangrove.
Seal away the painful memories, and the person subjected to it would never be able to recall them.
If they were on the same level, Cate could unlock the sealed memories with ease.
But now, Cate could not break through this barrier at all.
In other words, behind Black Noir stood a psychic Metahuman more powerful than she was.